You and Me Makes Three
by Goblin Witch
Summary: Independent chapters all flowing into the tale of an Argonian miner and Orsimer mage trekking across Skyrim, encountering one bizarre change of heart after another.
1. Threat, Leave and Animal

Scrambling to his feet, Derkeethus felt his heart swell in his throat. The mellow dripping of cave walls was torn with a grinding, scraping noise; his breath became shallow with fear. He hadn't heard that sound since he'd been carried down in ropes, and if this was Falmer coming to begin whatever he had been captured for, Darkeethus didn't think he'd enjoy it. The unmistakable shriek of his captors sent him sloshing through the water, straining to hear the slapping of flat feet descending to meet him.

He heard nothing.

Eye ridges furrowing, he crept closer. Listening. Approaching the stairs with his claws ready, feeling vulnerable and stupid, he struggled to keep his breathing quiet.

There was nothing.

He began the ascent, and in a rush grey eyes met his and it became a figure crouched in the shadows.

"You- you remind me of Shadowscales, from the old stories." It was out in a rush, a breath tumbling from him in a heap of relief, body unwinding with his tongue.

And his rescuer grinned behind purple warpaint.

0o0o0

"Here you are; Darkwater Crossing," she gestured over the entire town with one sweep of her arm. "Safe and sound."

"I don't… I don't know how to thank you," Derkeethus said earnestly. This woman had literally _saved his life_, saved him from torture or experiments or whatever other nasty things he couldn't bring himself to imagine just then; rescued him. She had single handedly executed an entire nest of Falmer to rescue him, and he had never laid eyes on her before in his life.

What do you say to a person like that?

"Wait!" It was loudler than he had meant, reaching out as she began her departure.

She turned with eyebrows raised, and he really looked at her. Obviously an honest to gods full-blood she-orc. Mage's robes, a pack. A bow and arrow. Tired eyes. What did she _do _for a living?

"Won't... You, saved me. I owe you. I owe you my life. Won't you let me, do something?"

"'Do something'?" She echoed. Gods, her voice was low.

He held up his hands, gesturing vaguely, feeling at a loss. "Food? Shelter? …A reward?"

She smirked then. "Is that what your life is worth?"

That drew him up short.

They stared at each other, for a long while.

"Take me with you."

"What?"

It was tumbling from him before he even though of it. "Take- take me with you. Let me help you."

"I'm sorry?"

"I want to help you." It was gaining momentum now, and he was shocked and excited and speaking faster. "I owe you everything. Let me give it to you. Take me with you."

"You don't know what you're asking."

"You lead, I'll follow."

"It's not some pleasant camping trip- you, you don't even know- it's not what you think it is."

"What, adventuring?" He was smiling broadly, becoming determined.

"This is a very serious request! It's dangerous and dark and morally ambiguous." She drew herself up and he held his ground.

"I won't be a hindrance- I helped you kill those Falmer, didn't I?"

The orc was silent.

"Let me help you," he repeated, and her eyes slid from his face. She glanced him over, and if he didn't know better he'd say she was sizing him up.

A breath. Eyes snapped back to his.

"Very well."

0o0o0

He may have needed rescuing, but at least he felt helpful dressing game.

The rabbit had put up a good dash; it smelled him first, took off and it had taken three tries before he finally hit the poor beast. Hunting, he knew. He could hunt and trap and fish well, having learned from his mother years ago. An Argonian's diet was meat-centric, after all.

In the present, summer rain poured down in thick sheets outside their little cave. Watching his companion- Rook Blah something awful- strike sparks from her flint to damp kindling, Derkeethus asked why she didn't just magic them a fire.

"The weakness of a Mage, is growing habits of dependence," she muttered in her low, low voice. She did not look at him, eyes never straying from her work.

Derkeethus thought that needlessly intense, but then again, that was a stereotype of orcs.

The flame caught, orange blooming hot from the kindling and sending jagged black shadows across her face.

Very… intense.

"Are you done?"

"Hm?" He blinked.

"The rabbit."

"Ah! Yes." He brought the cleaned kill to her, extending it a bit awkwardly. "How do you like your dinner?"

She averted her eyes from the meat, thick lips curling unpleasantly. "Without a head, please." Her tone was tighter than before, and he glanced at the meat in confusion.

She shifted. "I don't… I prefer working with meat when I cannot see its face."

His eyes widened at that, turning to the little furry face. "I thought…"

She lifted an eyebrow, cocking her head expectantly.

He looked at her again.

"…wrong, then. I'll quarter it."

She grinned appreciatively, showing off thick and jagged teeth spilling from between those savage tusks. "Would a rosemary and sage rub be alright with you?" She asked.

Perhaps not as intense as he would have thought.


	2. Now, Swift and Ashes

Fire burst and roared, exploding amongst the undead and sending the tomb into further chaos. Withered bodies with ghosts' eyes sprinted through the blaze in battle gear and battle cries, as the orc mage sent one of the oncoming into an artificial bloodlust and he turned blindly on his kin.

The pair of grave robbers retreated partially up the hall, Rook summoning a great golem of ice to send barreling into the fray. As he shot arrow after arrow, Derkeethus felt a gust of springtime and relief as Rook's healing charm settled on him. "Thank you!" He chirped as the magic died, and she smirked as she drew a mace. "Don't get hit," she said. Then the break was over, and the sound of shattering alerted them that the undead had defeated their distraction.

Nordic steel whistled as it sliced the air towards him, the Draugr bringing her blade down heavy and brutal against Derkeethus' mining pick. It was an ancient blade, as was its master; ancient in that way you could feel in your very skin. That Old World breath when you stand alone in untouched tree groves, and snow-snuggled ruins in the dark.

"Hsssss!" He bared his fangs, shoving her back roughly and swiping at those ice-eyes. She staggered and garbled back at him; dead words swallowed by dusty halls, calling gods long forgotten.

0o0o0

They ran, Orc and Argonian, across the tundra valley. Dry clay crumbled under their boots as brush parted at their knees, and they moved quick; like little field mice scurrying under that open grey sky. Wind flapped their clothes against them, its chill trying to creep into their layers. It smelled of dry grass, and the landscape was changing yet again to feature sparse grey trees and a city growing before them. This morning it had been woods with crunchy snow, and he turned to look back. In the distance he could see it, as great craggy rocks tumbling up and up until it became a mountain range. Had they really travelled so far?

As if hearing his thoughts, Rook turned to look at him over her shoulder and declared, "When we reach that boulder, let's take a break."

"Gladly!" He smiled, and she grinned before beginning to slow. They steadily brought themselves to a walk, and Derkeethus could feel the fatigue he'd have that night begin in his legs. "When do you suppose we'll reach Whiterun?" He began conversationally.

She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking to the sun. "I'd say in time for dinner."

"Excelllent!" He sat down heavily as they reached the great rock creeping from the ground, just tall enough to protect their backs. Dropping his pack heavily, he slumped back in relief. "I could use a hot bath and a hotter fresh caught fish."

"Keep your fish," Rook grinned, resting the back of her head against the dusty stone with a sigh and closed eyes. "I'm getting a leg of lamb."

"You like eating babies, don't you."

"Their innocence is delicious."

"The bloodier the better, huh."

"Absolutely."

He smiled and leaned forward, beginning to rub his feet ruefully. "That was quite the run today. We started in a different climate."

"It happens," she shrugged. "The more we adventure together, the more of that you'll see."

He looked over, smile returning wider than before though her eyes were closed to it. "That sounds exciting."

Rook huffed, but with amusement.

0o0o0

"How does a wraith have ashes?" Derkeethus asked no-one in particular, kicking a bit at the heap of glittering dust with the side of his foot. Before it struck him as sacreligious and he stopped.

"Why do they have gold in them, is the real question," the orc knelt and rummaged through one of the piles, taking out a couple septims and blowing them off.

He took in their surroundings. Bird songs came through maws in the stone walls, holes cleaved open to sky surrounding them in this perch precariously high above the world. He jogged out to see the view- because really, what else could you do- and stopped just steps away from the sheer drop.

"By the hist, what a sight!" He breathed. Before him sprawled snow-bathed mountain peaks and rivers slicing down, down to the sea so far away. Little villages sprinkled the landscape below, tiny grey huts with tiny grey smoke.

"Wh-wha?" He blinked. A bizarre smell rose to his nose, and smoke passed his face, drifting up from the base of the tower. Rook crept passed him crouched low, and went to look over the edge.

"Easy!" The Argonian frowned worriedly, but she paid him little mind. Leaning further on her haunches, the orc frowned at what she saw. Now dreadfully curious, Derkeethus shifted inch by inch to follow suit.

Below them, Nords were burning their dead. Some wept, some stood still, and they were too distant to see much of. But the miner didn't need their faces to know them. They were bandits, honoring their fallen.

A sense of melancholy touched his coldblooded heart, and he leaned back quietly. Beside him, Rook followed suit.

"Let's go," was all she said, and it was somber. But they hesitated, an unspoken empathy, watching smoke drift up and disappear.


	3. Strange, Prey and Falter

Derkeethus gasped, stopping his trek to stare wide-eyed at the vast lake spread out beautifully before them, cradled by mountains like a mother's hands. He sprinted, shedding his armor haphazardly and tripping out of his boots, clawed toes digging deep into the muddy sand.

"For gods' sake, check for Slaughterfish first!" Rook called after him, but it was useless. He hadn't seen water like this since leaving Darkwater Crossing! They forded rivers and washed with rags, but the sweet embrace of deep water had eluded him. Water clung to his legs and tripped him, bringing him down with a _sploosh! _And the dense cold gulped him down. He set of quickly beneath the surface, cutting through the water like a great fish.

In his skivvies Derkeethus smiled cheerfully at the orc on the shore as he surfaced, and slid along peacefully, tail snaking side to side behind him. The sun shimmered yellow on the ripples and waves and it almost felt more natural than walking- the way he could twist and turn, swallowing the water like air.

In contrast, Rook stood eying the lake, and him, and only after noting nothing attacked the Argonian did she began to strip. Derkeethus was oblivious more interested in floating on his back, until he glanced over to her and took a double take. She was obviously careless to whether he watched or not. Weren't women strange about showing their bodies? Though he had only lived around human women before. He scrunched his face in confusion, but mostly at the fact he was a bit embarrassed to see her- she was too alien looking to justify it.

But the woman was heedless of his scrunched face as it bobbed about the waves, instead gingerly making her way in and hissing something Orcish. She was tense, and crept slowly out to her knees, the slimy lake-mud billowing up like smoke around her feet.

"Come in!" Derkeethus called, waving to her. "It feels amazing."

"I don't trust deep water!" She cried, and her jaw dropped as a fin rose from the water and Derkeethus was gone.

0o0o0

Derkeethus scowled at the fish roasting over the fire, wrapped as he was in scratchy wool blankets. The pair had made camp by the lake, and Rook set an explosive rune between them and the water before starting dinner. Having exhausted his usefulness, Derkeethus warmed his feet by the flames, running one of the great fish's teeth in his fingers. It matched the new scars on his ribs.

He wondered, if he re-watched himself get every new scar he had earned so far, how long it would take.

"It was just a large predator, it wasn't personal," the mage smirked as she seasoned the roasting thing. "Being prey isn't something to hold a grudge about."

"You weren't the one in its mouth," he shot back.

"I know more about that feeling than you think," Rook dusted her hands on her robes, and sat across from him with folded legs. "One of the first experiences I had like that was a spider the size of a house."

That sent Derkeethus shuddering animatedly. "By the Hist! And is that how you feel about spiders now?"

"I set them on fire."

0o0o0

The innkeeper looked up from his log. "Will that be one room for ye both?"

"Yes," Rook said automatically, then her eyes widened in time with the Argonians'.

"That is to say, uh," She fumbled, turning to look at him. He blinked. "If you're- no, no, two please."

"Two rooms?" The barman repeated, keeping his face neutral to his credit.

"One room is fine," Derkeethus blurted out. The Orc's head whipped over to look at him once more, looking more surprised than before.

"If you're comfortable with it, of course," he amended hastily.

"Of course, uh-"

"Then we'll just-"

"It's no problem with-"

"Well I suppose-"

"One room with two beds please," She held up a hand and stared at the innkeeper's shoulder. Placing the Septims on the table, which clinked together louder than usual, he nodded graciously.

"Thankee much. If you'll be followin' me, please."

Trailing after them both Derkeethus couldn't help but wonder what that was about. They had been travelling together some time, now. They ate, slept, and bled in front of each other. They had even changed armor on the occasion! Why would he be uncomfortable sharing a room?

"Here ye are. Holler if ye be wantin' anythin'."

They were alone.

"I'm sorry about that," Rook grimaced, setting her pack on the table as he did. "I forget how different other people are than my people about these things."

"What things?"

"Sharing a room, things. Where I come from, everybody in the tribe sleeps in one room together. I didn't even think twice."

"Don't worry about it," He said honestly, sitting on the nearest bed. The hay smelled fresh, and the blankets were rough but fluffy. "I would feel odd sleeping without you around, anyway."

"Really?" She took the bed opposite.

"Absolutely. I'm used to the protection."

"How kind of you."

"We're rather like our own tribe, I suppose," Derkeethus observed, leaned back on his hands. "We hunt and eat together; defend each other."

"A tribe of two is more sad than anything." Rook smiled around her tusks regardless. It was still a strange looking face.


End file.
